Posted in Passages


He didn’t believe in God,
never missed a chance to diminish divinity
or to argue with someone who did
… so ridiculous
… so unlikely
…. so beyond fairytale as to be fantasy, or bullshit.
Strange that his own recount sounded familiar
familiar to the visions of the saints of Catholic education
perhaps it was assimilation
years of rebutting the same plot ….. leads to absorption
like repeated overhearing of slang
or forced recitation of high school French.

Apparently the aircraft landed, turned and
the sun fell on her – almost only –
lime lighted against the crowd
standing by the fence on the first day
“ you wouldn’t  believe it … in baggage claim
got talking ….”
A month of backpacking and ……. so wonderful –
croissants after years of cheap white bread.

Marriage … bliss … such a find … meant to be
just imagine he hadn’t taken that last-minute flight.
10 years …..
the magic diamond abraded by the concrete of ordinary :
mortgage, groceries, cooking, superannuation, gardening
friction … argument … separation ….

He said
she was so inadequate,
he had always known that
said he couldn’t believe what he’d done,
or he had ever seen anything in her,
guessed he probably felt sorry for her.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.